Warning: Unfinished.

The pile of burning tires and other assorted trash in the middle of the street was exactly what we had been looking for. I shot Jimbo up against it as a backdrop, shrugging and grinning like he'd accidentally set it off, then he did the same for me. I like to think I was more dignified.

When he gave me back the camera, I looked around for something else to shoot. The streets were all lit up in Miami neon, like any normal Friday night, but the lights were directing non-existent traffic, like in some zombie movie. It was kind of eerie to see a big bonfire like this with no one around it. Either it was past their bedtime or the guads ran them off. Either way, we pretty much had downtown to ourselves.

Earlier that day, to absolutely no one's surprise, El Generalisimo nullified the elections. The opposition took to the streets and were soundly beaten by guads with billy clubs and the hoards of los batallones dignidad. It made quite a show on the evening news and although we were sternly ordered to stay away, there was really never any chance that we actually would.

So now, here we were mugging up against burning street debris and looking for more photo opportunities. They just don't put on shows like this back home on the farm.

Without anything particularly interesting in immediate view, I checked my watch. Another inconvenience of the recent festivities was that at Midnight, the guards at the gate would be reporting new arrivals to their company commanders. This was not the sort of excitement I was looking for. Beside, the First Sergeant had mentioned that morning that we'd be running Cardiac Hill tomorrow.

“We probably need to start heading back. We've got just over an hour before curfew.”

Jimbo gave me one of smiles of his that always made him look drunk. “Only takes 30 minutes. Let's get a drink at that place over there, “ he pointed at a nicely appointed establishment halfway down the block. “I'll buy you something you ain't never had, and then we'll bug out.”

He started walking towards it and I followed meekly along. I really hadn't come out here for exotic beverages but there was really no way to turn down free alcohol without looking like a total wuss. A few moments later, we were seated at the bar of “La Gruta Azul”, a place of a somewhat higher quality than we usually frequented. Or that let us frequent them. I looked around while Jimmy conversed with the bartender and noticed that there wasn't another soul in the building. Well, that explained what we were doing inside.

Billy Idol was singing “To Be a Lover” over the sound system as Jimbo sat down next to me and gestured at the establishment with his eyebrows.

“Nice place, eh?”

I looked around again. It was a glass, chrome, and mahogany bar of the sort that normally required better clothing than I was currently wearing. Nice enough, I supposed. A little snooty for me. And dead empty. Billy segued into “Soul Standing By ”.

“Not much of a chance of getting lucky tonight,” I pointed out.

He followed my eyes and scowled, realizing the implications a deserted bar had on his planned revelry. I could see him trying to figure out how he could make lemonade out of this, but his shoulders visibly slumped and he glanced over at the bartender.

“Yeah. Maybe we'll just finish our drinks and head out,” he muttered dejectedly. Poor guy never took the death of an evening well.

By the time our drinks arrived, Billy had disturbingly launched into “Sweet Little Sixteen”. Mine was green. I looked suspiciously over to Jimbo who offered, helpfully, “It's a Grasshopper!” I sipped it. Minty. For this, I was concerned about appearances of manliness.

“It's nice, Jimmy. Now, you slam back your ... fruity thing and we'll be back on base before Top has us buffing floors.”

He chuckled and went to work.

For a couple minutes, the two of us sat in silence and drank our concoctions. The place was depressing and even Jim was ready to go when we hit bottom. He went over to pay the man while I stepped outside and waited.

It was warm, like it always was, but there was a nice breeze coming down the street. It smelled like something burnt, but it felt good. I looked back down the street toward the fire, and saw a couple figures next to it. Jimmy stepped out onto the curb and looked where I was looking.

“Hmmp. Humans. Go figure.”

We had to walk that way to catch a cab, so we set off to see who they were. As we got closer, I noticed that they were wearing the same thing, and that both of them wore hats. And then I saw their car behind them. Stenciled large on the side: “La Guardia Municipal”.

“Guads,” we both softly warned.

*

Now, the guads, you understand, were not bad people. They were policemen pretty much like the ones back home. The only difference was that they weren't paid very much and they weren't particularly fond of Americans. Still, nominally bound by the laws they swore to uphold, they rarely did more than hit you with a traffic citation and offer to handle the fine on the spot. But tonight was a little special.